


Trade-off

by Beed



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: ALL the incest warnings!!!!!, And fake guilt, Crossdressing, Guilty Pleasures, Incest, M/M, Play Fighting, Time Skips, Twincest, all of them tbh not just hank and dean, lowkey secondary romance, they share one braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 10:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beed/pseuds/Beed
Summary: Each night after the next seemed to up the ante once they came to an agreement-- until it got out of hand.





	Trade-off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EustaceScrubb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EustaceScrubb/gifts).

Hank stood over his brother’s silhouette, in the dark of his spacious, ‘new’ bedroom. They’d been here at VenTech for a while now, but it still hadn’t gotten old. It got to the point that Hank knew when Dean would nod off, despite them sleeping apart.  
And without fail, he snuck in, took a gander at his twin, consternating if he should even be doing this, then slid into Dean’s bigger, roomier bed and dozed off.

This time was different. Before Hank even slipped a foot underneath the rumpled sheets in front of him, Dean’s curled-up cozy body had straightened out, slow and unsure. But even with his voice a bit tinged with sleep, he sounded much more in control than he let on.

“You have _ got _to find a better way to invite yourself in.”

Hank felt no need to lower his foot off the edge of the bed, simply placing his hands on his hips. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been acting this whole time, letting me secret agent my way into bed? That’s cruel, Dean-o.”

Dean’s shove at Hank’s foot was devoid of venom; Hank let his leg be pushed off the bed, and finally slid on under Dean’s sheets, bumping elbows until they found a symbiotic way to press flush against one another’s sides. 

Of course, Hank was always prepared for sneaking in an eight-hour nap in the middle of the night with Dean, and felt no need to wear pajamas-- and Dean had evolved beyond wearing a nice set of nightwear himself, apparently, opting for underwear alone, what seemed like every night since they moved out from the old compound. It helped to be on the same page as your bunkmate, Hank liked to reason.

“Ooh, hot,” Hank remarked on Dean’s temperature. Dean himself grimaced, but wound a leg around Hank’s own.

“And you’re too cold,” he said in return. “You’re always cold when you come in… It’s annoying.”

“How else do you want me to do this? That’s life, okay? Suck it up, buttercup.”

Dean’s voice grew exasperated, and his withering expression was as clear as day in the darkness, to Hank-- who was always quite good at seeing in the dark, on account of his unspoken bat-abilities. 

“You have no idea what you’re saying. Look, Hank… Next time, just-- just come in here, right away-- or, you know. When you come home, and you’re tired. Or whatever.”

“I’ll consider,” Hank responded, his tone not unlike a customer waiting for the right time to tell the seller ‘no’. Dean took it regardless with a soft sigh.

A lull began to take over the room, and Hank could feel Dean’s body beside him growing less tense, more comfortable. It was one of the great benefits of hoarding a bed with him; they felt the same more often than not, energies coming together, or down, like a tide. Hank couldn’t deny himself tonight, though.

He slowly, gently, began to slide a semi-limp hand along Dean’s shoulder, having gotten an arm trapped under his bony back when they first cuddled up. There was no resistance in Dean’s body as soon as Hank started up his soft rubbing, but Dean still piped up anyways.

“Oh, no-- don’t,” Dean whispered. 

It didn’t sound like a no, at least not to Hank. So he continued for quite some time, while Dean did nothing to dissuade it further. Up and down, he barely was able to brush his fingers along Dean’s narrow shoulder and arm. He _ wanted _ to go lower, of course, but stuck is stuck.  
Then, after what felt like forever of giving Dean what he wanted, Hank spoke up into the silence.

“You’re supposed to do it for me, too, jerk-o-saurus.”

“I told you I don’t want it,” Dean didn’t hesitate to retort. He sounded wide awake. That was all Hank needed to know.

Hank’s noodly, staticky-stuck arm under Dean came fully to life, wriggling and thrashing as Dean’s body jostled and bumped with every movement. “Here, let me up-- let me up.”

Dean had hissed something to Hank but it was ignored. It didn’t matter. As soon as they were both sat up and freed from each other, Hank had created a little distance between them solely to face Dean properly.

If he was hot before, he was an inferno now: even in the dark, it was obvious his face was on fire, cheeks and neck all ruddy with desperation. Dean’s body rarely did it for him, truthfully, but there was something very nice about the way he held himself when he was needy. He liked to stick his chest out a little, and tuck in his chin along his collarbones, like a cute shy girl. And _ that _Hank approved of.

He went in to kiss Dean, square on the lips, but had paused before sealing the deal. Dean had closed his eyes in preparation, lips comically jutting out. Hank had to stop himself from snorting.

“Wait, no, wait, hold on, Dean,” Hank started. “You were the one that said you didn’t want it! What’s all this?”

“Hank,” Dean whined out, long and soft. Just for that, Hank made sure to lean in and give his brother a thorough kiss.

When they parted, Hank had to take a breather and wipe away all that spit they amassed between each other. “Jesus, Dean, you can act like such a girl, sometimes.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, it’s-- it’s kinda good.”

“_What _?” Dean’s voice had reached that girly-point without even trying, and Hank had to snicker at it. He was shoved for his transgression immediately. “And-- and you think you’re any more macho yourself, mister?”

Hank rolled his eyes. He then put his prowess to good use, shoving Dean’s chest in turn, and attempting to keep him down, under him. Could it be called pinning if Dean went down without a fight? His narrow frame was decidedly mannish but there he went anyway, arching and squirming like a desperate schoolgirl, which, realistically, wasn’t far from the truth of his identity.

Hank let his body sink along Dean’s, pressing perfectly, their blanket-heated skin threatening to make them sweaty and sticky before they got to the good part.

“You’re so easy,” Hank said. He lowered his head down to meet with Dean, below, and nipped at his bottom lip. He was rewarded with another roll of Dean’s body, driving more friction between them, and Hank felt his dick twitch in response. “Yeah... Good. I like it. A lot.”

* * *

With a pep in his step and the urge to whistle happily, Hank strode across the long hallways of their new tower-home, beelining for Dean’s bedroom. It was super late, it was pretty dark, but Hank felt like it might as well be a sunny, booming day, with how much it had lifted his spirits to find some long-needed release right at home. Dean wasn’t like anyone else-- Dean never turned Hank away.

Hank paused as he considered his thoughts, right out Dean’s door. So it was true, then: Dean wasn’t really as girlish as Hank liked to consider him? Really, only ever girls seemed to turn away from Hank’s advances. 

He was an old-school kinda guy and thought he took it slow and was respectful, but dang, Brock never lied when he once told Hank, drunkenly, that most women are as frigid as a Russian snowstorm.

“Hmm,” Hank murmured aloud at the tangent of his thought process. He then shrugged and strode into the suspiciously open-doored room, Dean oddly laid flat on his back, under the sheets of his bed.

He shut the door for his forgetful brother, then continued to slither onward. He reached the mattress and kept watch over Dean’s form.

“Hey. What’re you doing? I know you’re not asleep. You don’t fool these hawk eyes.”

Dean stirred, or at least faked it well enough. He didn’t move too much, and Hank grew impatient pretty quick. He darted out a hand to pat at Dean’s warm cheek. 

“Stop joshin’ around, Dean. Invite me in! Act like I’m a vampire and let me know it’s okay.”

“Ugh. You’re just weird,” Dean gave in, squinting up at Hank. Still, he only grew more hesitant, not inviting Hank like requested. His hands had bunched along the blankets from the inside where he laid supine, and dragged them further up around his shoulders and neck.

Hank frowned. “What’re you doing?” He didn’t wait for an answer from Dean. The hand that had strayed along Dean’s face went for the edge of the bunched blanket and pulled hard.

What Hank saw felt like a gutpunch. Dean’s chest was bare, but down along his long narrow torso, laid almost delicately along his prominent hip bones, was a battered, worn down black skirt. 

Hank hadn’t even realized he’d been gawking in silence. His voice came out dry and hushed. “Holy toledo, what situation do we got here? What’s-- what’s all this, for?”

“I-- I dunno, I just thought,” Dean started. He was doing his bashful and humble routine. It did grow a little manic in speed and pitch as Hank descended from above to sit beside him. “You know-- yester-- last night… You said all that stuff, about… About me acting like a girl.”

“Okay,” Hank agreed, listening not-so-intently. His hands were itching to feel along the skirt, to see what else was going on. Dean was always going to be Dean, to him, but, somehow, volunteering this sort of duty felt far different than their usual fare. 

He even leaned in, cutting off Dean’s expectant face now above him, his breastless chest rising and falling a bit quicker.

“Maybe it’ll, um. Help. I guess.” His words ended unsure. 

Hank didn’t give a flying flim-flam, it was fine; one hand of his had rested itself on Dean’s thin thigh in an attempt to settle him, like a skittish girl. The other hand seemed to agree that this was still Dean, fingers already moving on from feeling along the skirt and moving upward, inward, wanting to grope and explore all that he was pretty familiar with.

Dean’s voice had grown even softer. “I can… Would it be a good idea? To be your test date...”

Hank’s hand stopped along what felt suspiciously like ladies pantaloons. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows raised to the top of his damn head. 

“What? _ Really _? You’d do that for me?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Dean admitted. He nodded enthusiastically, voice still a hushed whisper. “Maybe… Maybe, sometime, we can take turns.”

Hank guffawed, hands coming out from their exploratory, pushy touches, to square up along his chest. “Hah-- yeah, no way, jose. That’d be a real bummer, since I’m pretty macho lookin’ and all.”

Dean snapped his thighs back together, sitting delicately on the mattress to properly match Hank. Both of their apparent erections went ignored in the heat of a new argument. 

“Oh, you’re a real man’s man-- I have to _ scoff _at that idea, buddy-boy!”

“You really think I’d look as good as you in a skirt or something? Get real, Dean-o. You’re like, halfway to being a real-life girlfriend.” 

He did it then-- Dean’s eyes went wide like he had been smacked upside the head, like Hank used to do to him-- then, that frown turned deep and dark. 

Hank had to try and keep his composure. Maybe Dean would come around and give in, in a bit. But in the moment, he stayed staunch and fussy.

“You know what? Get out of my room,” Dean said with finality. He shifted along his bed again, bringing his hands up across his arms, and covering his delicate chest. His hardon had waned considerably, which sucked, since Hank was still rarin’ to go. “I’m not joking, Hank. You-- you _ suck _.”

“Aw, what? What’s your problem?”

“Did you not just think about anything you said to me?” Those big eyes threatened to water, and Hank did feel just a little guilty about it. “Is this the-- the same bro who used to-- act with me, doing any of the parts that needed to be done, even if it was the ladies’ parts of the act?”

Hank curled in his lips together to keep from giggling at_ ladies’ parts _. The rest of the conversation had a bit of merit, after all. And Dean was having a moment. It was practically a lady-moment, too.

“Don’t laugh! It’s true, you big-- ff-- idiot jerk!” Dean let out a harsh sigh, then purposely turned his back on Hank, body twisting oddly to avoid facing his twin. 

“Sometimes I don’t think you’ll ever get me. You don’t want to! I just-- I wanted to be even.”

“We’re not even, though,” Hank started. “It’s not a big deal! What’s wrong with you being the girl for tonight?”

“Well, you said you wouldn’t be the girl any other night.”

“Yeah, this is kinda different than _ lady parts _,” Hank said as if he were talking to a slow person. “If it needs to be done, then I will do it, for Kingdom and Country. But really, Dean-- what’s the problem with being the prettier bro?”

“Wh--” Dean had turned around to glare at Hank. He began to gesticulate fiercely. “I think _ you’re _the prettier brother! So how can you-- you can’t make that decision for yourself, anyway! I’ve-- I’ve seen you in a dress! It’s... It’s very nice.”

Hank gave a thorough, soul-bearing look before agreeing with a stiff lip. “I do look good in a form-fitting number.”

“Yeah! Yeah, Hank, you do. See? So-- so we can take turns.” Dean gave his spoken piece a minute before wibbling again. “Please?”

“Oh, all right! Just stop your yammerin’ and bring your legs far apart again.”

* * *

Their forays from that night onward turned monstrous, every night afterward, they had both upped the ante in some capacity.

The skirt that Dean had ‘borrowed’ from Triana that first night of their experimentation quickly went out of rotation as they brought back old outfits from doing _ lady parts _ during their rundown theatre acts.

There was one night in particular that really crossed the line, though. Hank was really feeling his oats, dodging and weaving Dean’s grabby hands for his short slip that could maybe be called a dress. It got to the point that they had begun to compete in earnest, loud and eager about who was playing fair and who wasn’t.

They ended up along the railing of the hallway, facing down to the main living room of the tower. It wasn’t so nerve-wracking, having the whole place turn darker than a moonless night at these hours, but there was something-- strangely enough-- wrong, to Hank, in knowing that he _ kinda wanted _to make a scene. 

He handicapped himself through their chase and gave in easy, already harder than steel under the slip; Dean pressed up against his back, his insistent pushing leaving Hank no room to squirm along the railing in front of him. 

His fingers curled along the metal as he regained a normal breath. Dean was panting right in his ear, and it tickled. Something else tickled mighty fine, too. Hank was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and his legs tucked together in faux modesty, grinding against his twin brother in front of the poor, starch-and-pure living room.

“Shh,” Hank hissed at Dean’s heavy breaths.

Dean paid no mind and mouthed haphazardly at Hank’s ear while working his fingers along the hem of the slip, then along the curve of Hank’s ass. He wasn’t a curvy goddess by any means, but at least he had more meat in that area than Dean. He liked to hope it impressed.

Suddenly, a flickering noise somewhere within the tower sounded off. It was quick and painless, like an old, old, _ old _computer restarting. 

Nothing came of it, but it was loud enough for both the boys to quickly tear apart without thinking twice.

“Wh-- _ shit _!”

Hank shivered, stuck in his spot from a lost round of fight-or-flight, as Dean hissed back, his hand immediately darting to his crotch to readjust his shame. “D-don’t curse! It’s unbecoming!”

Hank didn’t stick around to see what or who the noise was from-- after finding his bearings he booked it back to Dean’s bedroom. 

His whole body had turned clammy-- hot and cold over and over-- which was a sensation he never expected to feel outside of being pursued by homicidal poltergeists.

“Wait!” Dean kept up that somehow-loud whisper, even from afar. 

It wasn’t until he caught up to Hank that he hurriedly inched the door shut then bounded over to his brother with those grabby hands anew. But Hank had purposely brought space between him and Dean’s curious touch. 

“We-- we can’t keep doing this anymore.” Hank knew he was being watched, and he allowed it for a moment before bridging the odd silence. He pointed at his tight slip, right at his crotch-- there was the telltale mark of his excitement. “Look.”

Dean had given the damp spot a once-over before cooing in a mocking tone.  
“Aww, Hank...” He inched closer again, going to poke at the offending spot. “It’s not so bad to wet yourself-- it happens all the time when there’s some panic.”

Hank slapped Dean’s hand away petulantly before crossing his arms, standing before his brother with a decidedly feminine indignation as he jut his narrow hips. 

“No, you freakin’ _ dingus _, I shot too early, like Spiderman before he truly understood his powers!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Hank repeated. It was almost with clarity, which is quite sobering for the two. 

Then, back to his lack of sense, he groaned in frustration, once more moving away from Dean, turning his back to him. 

“We can’t do this anymore-- my-- my wires are getting all crossed! I know this is bad. And, you know what? I know _ you _know this is bad. So it’s doubly just the worst idea we’ve ever had... Second to trying to reanimate Scamp with Pop’s blood transfusions.”

“What?” Hank heard Dean approach. Instead of getting all grabby again, his brother exuded a bit of restrain, simply bringing his upper-half down to peer at Hank’s face. So Hank made sure he was clear.

“Yeah, I said it. I think this is exactly the thing Brock and Pop told us _ not _to do.”

“Well! Well,” Dean started with a nervous huff of laughter. He’d already raised himself back up to avoid Hank’s face. Hank could just _ hear _Dean circling around him. 

“I think that was, like, I dunno... Forever ago. Don’t you think things have changed enough to-- to make this okay?”

“Tell me more,” Hank said. He had decided to go from a withering tantrum-pout to bringing his head up to give Dean his absolute consideration.

“What do you mean ‘tell you more’? Things changed. What-- what else can I say, Hank?” But as soon as it came out of his mouth, Dean seemed to have more to elaborate. His expression grew more eager as he continued on. “You just had a little accident, no-- no problem. And, err, we-- we moved, and… And we don’t have a mom--”

“We’ve never had a mom,” Hank supplied helpfully.

“Right. Well, kinda. But now it just really sucks, not having a mom. ‘Cause, like… We lost Uncle Jonas.” There was a long pause, and Hank did try to connect the dots, but all he could muster was watching Dean’s eyebrows furrow. It was possible that even Dean didn’t know what he was saying. “And he was like… Kind of like, maybe-- nevermind. Just... This is stupid.”

“You’re not making me feel better,” Hank said. He made sure to point at Dean in that accusatory manner, just like their father, shaking his hand up and down, insinuating a stern _ look what you’ve done _. “And now my crotch is all cold and slimy and I never want to do this with you again.”

“Don’t say that!” Dean quit his pacing to grab at Hank’s arms with no preamble. Hank didn’t push away, because even if he said he didn’t want this, he really did. But it was very satisfying to have Dean grovel, in his own way.

“Your-- your _ no-no area _ may be messy with the shame of prematurity, and the mood may have been ruined, but don’t give up on me, Hank! I-- I’m just looking out for you, and you’re… You’re helping me, by doing this!”

After being shaken by the arms for a moment, Hank squinted down his brother, before repeating himself. “Tell me more.”

“Ugh!” Dean shoved at Hank when letting go. “Why are you like this? I know-- deep down-- you agree with me. What-- what do you care what Pop and Brock say? Since _ when _ , Henry Allen Venture? Seriously! You look very dashing tonight, and-- and we were _ enjoying _ourselves!”

“Oh, yeah-- I agree with you on a lot of points, there, but…” Hank frowned. “I don’t know why.”

“Because we have each other,” Dean suggested quickly.

“But it’s always been like that. What’s the big deal?”

Dean sighed, and it was harsh. Hank had to hand it to him-- these kinds of reactions were always fifty-fifty in annoying Hank and also feeling exactly the same. But Dean continued after letting loose.

“I didn’t want to break this down like _ Giant Boy Detective _, but you’ve left me no choice.”

His arms had come down with each point made, like an angry little professor. “Not everyone is like us, Hank. Because… Not everyone has gone through what we have. Do you read me loud and clear?”

Hank simply nodded. Dean opened his mouth as if to protest such an egregious lie, then thought better and continued on.

“Pop doesn’t get it, so of course he’s gonna shoot it-- this-- _ us _down! He-- he didn’t have a brother. Um, not until later. And, and even Brock hasn’t done the stuff we have. Because, he--”

“He’s got Pop?”

Dean soured once more at Hank’s finishing of his sentence. “Uh, no. That’s not what I was gonna say. And now, I’m really hoping not.”

This was all so much to take in. Hank personally wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, but it was his job to talk a mean game and keep Dean on his toes.

“You know, Dean, I can’t say I’m convinced by your passionate, twisting arguments just yet.” He shifted, still feeling stuck and gross and cold-wet in the now-ruined slip, then huffed as he sat back on Dean’s bed.

Dean, regardless of whatever he may have been feeling, followed suit. The mattress gave in easy when Dean chose no space between them, thigh-to-thigh.

“All I know is that Pop hates it when we do these things, and he’s like… Worse than God. I bet that’s why the noise happened. It was him, and he’s been seeing it: handies, tongue-fights and all!”

“I bet you’re dead-wrong,” Dean sniffed. Even in the dark, his cheeks had turned that tell-tale guilty red.

“Yeah, well, you don’t got proof, and your other proof for _ not _doing this stuff is stink-o. Even if it’s fun, I think we should call it quits.”

“Hank…”

“Don’t you ‘Hank’ me, mister! I’m immune to that name-calling unless _ you’re _the one wearing the dress.”

So Dean sighed. Hank tried it out himself, but it didn’t feel right. The last time he sighed so heavy was when he lost the most spectacular woman in his life-- the mail lady. This sort of melancholy didn’t suit him and Dean’s relationship, and it was even more wrong than being told what he did with Dean was wrong.

Hank peered over at his brother for a quick recap when he noticed a thoughtful expression across that mug. He nudged Dean with an elbow, none of the grace he attempted to exude earlier present in his body. This was full-on Hankinator, girlie Hank out of the building.

“What is it?”

“I just had an idea.” Dean paused. “But, maybe not.”

“What’re you, a Rubik's Cube? Make up your mind, human enigma! Spill.”

Dean gingerly placed a gentle hand on Hank’s firm thigh. “What if I told you… That there are some things we do that can’t be wrong?”

Hank’s eyes widened. “Loopholes?”

“Yes, Hank, loopholes. Loopholes big enough for even dad’s lawyers to jump through. Well, back when he _ had _lawyers, anyway.” 

Dean gave Hank’s thigh a hearty smack of realization. His stormy expression from earlier had been replaced with boyish enthusiasm. 

“So! What are things that are _ okay _for family members to do?”

“Oh-- oh-- lemme think--” Hank brightened, reflecting Dean’s enthusiasm. He smacked one of his hands into his palm, striking rich. “Take over the hover bike steering when the other’s unconscious, or near-death!”

“Close, but not quite, dear brother of mine.” Dean shook his head, but was still grinning wide. “We can hug and kiss!”

“Really?”

“Well, duh,” Dean mocked cheerfully. He smacked Hank’s thigh again, selling his point. 

“As long as it’s not a stranger, it’s okay to give someone hugs and kisses. And especially for families-- I think-- you’re supposed to show how much you care with a hug and a kiss!”

“I think you’re onto something, here!” Hank had jumped up from his cozy spot in an effort to get the newfound energy in his system something to do. “Are you trying to say… That, because we’re just hugging and kissing each other, it’s just us showing our familial care for each other?”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah-- but-- I guess that was where I didn’t know. Because then that means we-- we can’t do _ anything else _.”

“Aw, what? Gyp!”

“Yeah,” Dean huffed.

There was another heavy silence as Hank watched Dean kick at the floor from his spot on the bed, before his brother spoke up again.

“Well, maybe-- maybe if it’s just a little more than a hug, or-- or a kiss,” Dean amended shyly. “Maybe we can keep those things to ourselves. Very quietly.”

“Hmm.” Hank really didn’t have to consider this, but it was fun to watch his stupid brother get all sweaty and nervous over a whole lot of nothing. He hadn’t even began to speak as he crossed his arms over the hem of the slip and tugged upward, undressing. “Why not!”

“Oh, thank _ God _,” Dean cried out the moment Hank approved. “Just-- just don’t go into detail, or-- or don’t even say anything-- okay?”

“Splooge incoming!” Hank declared without preamble as he tore off his uncomfortable tight ladies underwear. 

Dean shouted in shock as Hank rolled out his death-from-above flying attack. The key to making this move successful was keeping the arms tucked in for a vicious roll-out assault of using one's fingers against the ribcage of the enemy. And the enemy was quite vulnerable at times like this, even if they thought they were in complete control earlier. Without the slip on, Dean was in for a rude awakening of who wore the daddypants around this bedroom.

And Dean didn’t even try to muffle himself, giggling and squeaking with each squirming movement Hank made on top of him, their bodies pressed together but their limbs askew around one another.

“I’m-- serious, Hank! Don’t say anything-- anything about _ this _\-- ever again! Stop that, that tickles!”

“What’s that?” Hank said, fingers still flying to tickle at Dean, mouth coming forward to nip at any expanse of skin in his vicinity. “I can’t hear you--” 

Hank began to punctuate his words as he gained more and more leverage over Dean’s flailing arms. Were they hugging, or humping? It’d be hard to remaster his lexicon to avoid suspicion, but it’d be worth it. “Over-- how much I’m-- smothering my stupid brother…” 

“Hank!” Dean had begun to laugh hard enough over more ominous flickering noises from outside his bedroom. His arms gave in completely, moving to his brother’s broad backside-shoulders, and tilted his neck outward, tandemly raising his hips in neediness.

Hank gave one last hoorah, his ‘kisses’ growing more in-line with what they had done previously. Whatever minute moral resolve he had in a flash of clarity had been long gone. “Mm, smothering-- in affectionate-- _ familial _\-- kisses and hugs!”

* * *

With the hectic way things had been around the tower, it was any wonder Hank and Dean had managed to make it to breakfast with Rusty and Brock. But there they all were, at the cramped little nook beside the massive window; Hank and Dean passing the salt, sugar, butter, just any given breakfast-like addition while they worked at their own plates, their parental figures more or less off in their own worlds of hazy, sleepy sluggishness.  
There was a heavy silence, though not an unwelcome one. Hank surely appreciated the break; he was exhausted from last night. That had been more of an adventure than some of the adventures he’d really been on!

“Hank, you’re thinking too loud,” Dean chastised in a half-asleep grumble. He tried to take the salt and bumped into Hank’s arm. “And you’re elbowing me. Stop.” 

“Dean, don’t start with your brother,” Rusty said. He was just as tired as Dean, apparently, because he hadn’t even peered up from his tablet to set the boys straight. It also didn’t help that he maybe didn’t even have his eyes open, elbow propped up on the table to support his chin in his hand. He droned on. 

“And Hank, stop thinking too loud. You two’re chasing away my dream… I’d never seen Lita Ford like this before, and I’m trying to bring her back before it disappears.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he went back to forking into his vegan scramble. Brock was oddly silent, head tucked away into his newspaper, and it wasn’t until Hank finished his jelly toast that he decided this was quite curious.

“Hey, Brock?” Hank tried.

There was a minute delay, and Hank was ready to try again, but Brock startled in his own slow way.  
“What, Hank.”

“Do you and Pop--”

Dean brought down his socked foot hard onto Hank’s bare one.

“Ow-- Jiminy crickets! _ Dean _!”

Hank turned to glare at Dean-- his scowl was seemingly directed at his breakfast, as if he hadn’t just destroyed Hank’s toes.

“Hm? What’s that, Hank?” Dean harshly stage-whispered. “You forgot your question? Oh, that’s no good.”

“No, I didn’t, you freakin’ spazz, I was thinking about what you said last--”

“_Hank _!” Hank didn’t have to be a ninja to tell Dean was raising his knee up to aim again, under the table. He caught himself flinching and bringing his arms to push at Dean.

“Would you stop it?!”

“I told you not to--” Dean cut himself off before giving in and laying a few pansy slaps to Hank’s arms. Not that Hank needed a reason, but the kid gloves were off! He immediately went to fiercely rustle Dean’s hair. The wuss winced at it.

“If you wanna play hardball, Dean, you’re gonna get the horns!”

“That-- _ ow _! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Their hands and arms began to flurry as they started slapping and shoving at one another in the little booth, careless of the dishes and wares around them. Hank’s juice went tumbling, and though H.E.L.P.eR. tried as fast as he could, the poor bot was left with wiping the liquid and smearing it all along Rusty’s tablet, beeping over the boys fighting with a sympathetic tone.

“Just forget it,” Rusty mumbled with a wave of his hand. He leaned back against the booth to look over at Brock with a grimace. He was able to talk just fine on account of Hank and Dean still roughhousing away, loud and catty.

“Can you believe this? Just who do they think they are? They’re not clever-- they’re not cute. It’s damn _ gross _.”

Brock gave Rusty a side-eyed glance as he tried to keep the charade up of actually reading the newspaper. The thing was a week-old and he still couldn’t get past the second headline article. There was another pause as he tried to shake away his sleepiness.

“They act a lot like you.” He then shrugged, folding the paper back up to put on the table full of strewn liquids and foods. “But, it’s funny… You barely leave an impression on ‘em; they just come to these, ah, conclusions, on their own.”

Rusty had to sneer at that dig. “Look, if I knew J.J. growing up, I sure as hell wouldn’t swap spit with him, okay? Don’t lump me in with _ them _ . I had hookers, man, and if either of them would look past each other for a second, I’d be glad to set them up for life, or something.” He brought his delicate thin fingers into an ‘ok’ hand-sign-- a minute gap was seen between his thumb and index finger. “I’m _ this _close to giving up and jettisoning them to Australia, or wherever lawless place would accept incestuous freaks.”

Brock didn’t hesitate to respond. He didn’t even bother making his voice louder over the childish wailing and jeering across the table. “Yeah, well. I don’t know what’s worse, honestly.”

“_Oh _, don’t act like you don’t know. You just don’t want me to be right.”

Brock shrugged at that, and felt a grin tug up on his tired mug. Rusty shook his head, but was smirking in turn.

They both ignored the plate of toast that went flying; H.E.L.P.eR. Screeched and chased after the now-broken ceramic. Brock gave in.

“Stop it, boys, you’re gettin’ too rowdy.”

“It’s all his fault!” Hank immediately shouted, as if Brock wasn’t even five feet away from him.

“Is not-- if you’d have just listened--”

Rusty gave a quick rub to his temples, then worked at his jaw in consideration. Brock stared at them just for a moment, fully impassive; he didn’t care enough to stop them this time, it was too damn early. Rusty raised his brows in agreement. Then, he brought one of his lanky arms back and around the booth, fingers resting ever-so-slightly along Brock's shoulders.

“So, uh…” Rusty quirked his lips then clicked his tongue. “What do you think Hank was gonna ask you about?”

Brock gave a quick consideration of what Hank might get curious about.

“It’s gotta be about girls.”

“Bullshit,” Rusty crowed. “He just got done getting his rocks off with his _ brother _ , for the whole damn building to hear-- kept _ us _up. He doesn’t like girls!”

“I meant more like, uh…” Brock couldn’t put it delicately. “Being a girl.”

“_What _?”

“Well, he’s got some… Some lipstick- or somethin’- on.”

Rusty tried to rein in his shock before turning back to the roughhousing debacle. With his free hand, he pushed the bridge of his glasses further up before squinting at Hank. His eyebrows shot up before he said anything.

“Well, what’dyou know… _ Wet ‘n Wild _ gloss. I’d know that sparkly-sheen anywhere.”

“I don’t wanna know how you know that.”

“Sure you don’t,” Rusty chuckled, deep and sensuous. Or, at least, he wanted it to sound that way. His eyebrows kept wagging, on and on. “I’ll get some more this weekend… Just for you. We could use the distraction.”

Brock grimaced and stifled a weary groan.


End file.
